Coda

I began with a story, parts of which are factually true. Parts were told to me differently at different points in time, revealing new pieces of information and correcting others I was certain I had heard before. Parts were never written. When I shared what I did write with the people I wrote about, they asked that some parts be removed. When I shared sketches with others who had lived in Iran at the time, they told me their own version of a similar tale. In the end, I decided to misconstrue what was said and what I heard. The story’s factual veracity was beside the point. I would write the story in pursuit of a truth akin to portraiture, my position in relation to it that of a spectator. This book was born of a desire to chase after ghosts, to turn the tables on what was haunting me and the people who raised me, and for that I needed to relinquish the desire to settle affairs.